The Disastrous Day off
by CapNicholls
Summary: Another Redbeard fanfic, as promised, a sequel to my other Sherlock fanfic, 'Redbeard'. Summary: Sherlock takes a day off. And it turns out horrible. It's a work still in progress, next chapter coming soon. I hope. Karlina101- this is for you. Hope you like it! Reviews are greatly appreciated! Oh, I own none of this. :(
1. Chapter 1

The door to the flat slammed loudly, making John jump. Sherlock stormed past him without so much as a glance, and a second later, John heard another door open and slam shut, loud as a gunshot.

"Stupid Donovan!" There was bang, and suddenly John realized that _was_ a gunshot.

"Stupid Lestrade!" Bang!

John leaped off the couch and ran to Sherlock's room, throwing open the door. There was Sherlock, firing his revolver into the ceiling. "And stupid Anderson!" Bang! Bang!

"Sherlock, what the heck are you doing?" John grabbed the gun and wrestled it out of Sherlock's hands. Not the wisest thing to do, he noted later.

"I'm picking daises, John, what does it look like I'm doing?!" Sherlock was out of it.

"Sherlock, there are people that live in the flat above us! You could have killed someone!"

"Do I look stupid? Their car isn't parked; they're not in right now!"

"What did Lestrade and Anderson do this time?" John carefully put the safety on, then emptied the bullet chamber.

"What do they ever do? They didn't think, they didn't listen!" Then, just like that, he flopped back onto his bed and threw and arm over his face, as if to say, 'discussion closed.'

"Okay, I think you need some alone time. I'm putting your gun away." John was out the door before Sherlock could say anything, and he carefully put the gun in a briefcase that he hid under his bed. Yes, Sherlock would undoubtedly be able to figure out the number code, but hopefully by that time, he'd be calmed down enough that he wouldn't shoot anything else.

Suddenly, he heard the flat door open and Mrs. Hudson's voice screeching, "What are you doing to my walls this time?"

Oh boy…

"Um, nothing, Mrs. Hudson! Look around. Do you see anything wrong?" He shoved the briefcase under the bed and went out to the sitting room. "Yes, everything looks perfectly fine to me!"

"I heard him firing his revolver again!"

"I have his revolver locked up-"

Suddenly Sherlock entered the room. "Ah, hello, Mrs. Hudson. When are you going out? I need a few things from the store."

"I'm not going out today, and I'm not your-"

"Wonderful! Be back within the hour." Sherlock shoved a piece of paper into her hands and turned her towards the door, pushing her out.

"Sherlock Holmes, I have things to do! I can't go running around all of creation to get you…" she peered at the list. "Ping-pong balls, aluminium foil, and pen ink?"

"Yes, they make lovely smoke bombs. Now, chop-chop, go-to, I haven't got all day."

"Why on earth do you need smoke bombs?"

"To give Lestrade a scare, why else?"

"Oh dear; what's he done this time?"

"He was being Lestrade! Do I need a better reason?"

"Sherlock, dear, I think you need a day off."

"A day off? What would I do with myself?"

"I don't know. Play Scrabble with Mycroft, or-"

"Oh, yes! Let's play Scrabble with Mycroft!" Sherlock was dangerously sarcastic. "Because that turned out _so_ well last time! I know! Why don't we invite all his MI5 agents too!" His face was red, and he was getting loud. "And why not bring in Scotland Yard! Yes, that sounds perfectly marvellous! We can all have a big Scrabble party!" He threw himself back onto the couch.

John looked warily at Sherlock. "Yeah. You definitely need a day off."

"Good gracious, dear, are you coming down with a fever?" Mrs. Hudson asked Sherlock. She could practically see the heat waves coming off of him. "I'll make you some tea. And tomorrow, you're taking the day off." She left.

"No, I'm not!" Sherlock yelled after her.

"Yes, you are, dear!" Her voice floated up the stairs, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"John, where's my revolver?"

"Why?"

"I want to shoot something. Just let me shoot that potted plant over there and I'll be happy."

"I don't think so."

"Why not? War made you all tense, is that it? Can't stand a little gunfire anymore?"

Sherlock was getting on John's nerves. John stood up and walked back to Sherlock' room.

"I don't like having my room snooped in, John!"

John came back out in a minute holding Redbeard. "Stand up."

"No."

John used his army voice. "Stand up, Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock gave a loud, annoyed sigh and got on his feet.

"Now pet the dog."

"What?"

"Pet the dog."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's scientifically proven that petting an animal calms you down, now pet the dog!"

Sherlock had his jaw set and was pointedly looking away from John. He was silent.

"For my sake, Sherlock. So my last nerves don't snap. So I don't end up punching you in the nose, _pet the dog_."

Sherlock stood there for a second longer, muttering under his breath that he _was_ calmed down, and didn't need some dumb doctor to tell him what to do, but finally reached out and quickly brushed Redbeard's fur with his fingertips, then jammed his hand into his pocket.

"Wonderful," John said, rolling his eyes. "Here." He shoved Redbeard into Sherlock's arms. "I've got things to do."

He went to his room to grab his gloves and shoes, and when he emerged a few minutes later, he saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, a pouty look on his face, holding Redbeard and rapidly stroking his fur, as if trying to make his bad mood fly away with the fur that was flying everywhere.

John hid a smile as he headed out the door, grabbing Sherlock's list from Mrs. Hudson on the way out.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, when Sherlock opened his eyes, he saw sunlight streaming in the window. "What the–?" He immediately checked his alarm clock. Someone had unplugged it.

Oh. Of course. It was his _day off_. He scoffed. Like he'd actually _enjoy_ a day off. Yes, they were trying to be nice, but really? He was Sherlock Holmes! He didn't take days off!

He pulled on his dressing gown and headed into the kitchen. Someone had set out a tray of tea and toast, with a little note in Mrs. Hudson's writing: Have a lovely day off, dearie.

Sherlock glared at it. They were treating him like a child! He could just see them now, John and Mrs. Hudson hiding somewhere, laughing to themselves.

Sherlock pushed the tray aside, muttering to himself, and went to the fridge. He opened the door and stopped. His experiments. Where were they?

John. John must have taken them out.

"Finally up?" John had walked into the kitchen and was pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Would've been up hours ago if someone hadn't unplugged my alarm clock."

"Hey, you can't get up at five o'clock in the morning on your day off."

"Watch me."

"Too late." John handed Sherlock a cup of coffee he'd poured and Sherlock grunted his thanks before taking a sip. He almost spewed it out.

"Oops, forgot the sugar," John said innocently, handing Sherlock the sugar bowl.

Sherlock glared, then realized John was probably getting back at him for trying to drug him back at Henry Baskerville's house.

"Alright," John said, pulling out a pen and a piece of paper, "first thing on the 'What we're going to do on Sherlock's day off' list is-"

"Train Redbeard to be a drug sniffing dog."

"What? No. The first-"

"John. This is _my_ day off. Yes?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then we're going to do what _I_ want."

"But I had the whole day planned…" John sighed, knowing it was no use, and stuck his list back in his pocket. "Fine. Let's go _train_ Redbeard." He rolled his eyes. Redbeard was an Irish Setter, for heaven's sake, not some German Shepherd!

"Goody!" Sherlock looked like a little kid as he went off to his room to get Redbeard.

John rolled his eyes. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the world's biggest seven year old."

Sherlock came out a minute later, setting Redbeard down on the floor of the sitting room and knelt next to him.

"Now, Redbeard, look at me." But Redbeard was too busy watching a fly that was buzzing around the room to pay Sherlock any attention.

"Redbeard! Look up here, boy!" Redbeard finally looked up at Sherlock, who held out a bag of white powder. "Now, sniff this." Redbeard looked mildly interested, and stuck his nose in the bag before sneezing, blowing the powder everywhere.

John held in a laugh. Sherlock was covered in the white stuff.

"Wait a minute…" Sherlock muttered, then wiped up some of the stuff and put it on the tip of his tongue. He glared up at John. "You replaced this with flour!"

"Sure did."

"How am I supposed to train him to be a drug-sniffing dog if I train him using _flour_?" Sherlock was annoyed. _This_ is why he didn't want a day off! Everything went wrong! "How'd you even know I was going to use this today?"

"Because I saw your list of 'Things I'm going to do on my 'Day Off' whether John likes it or not' when I unplugged your alarm. And we are _not_ going to the morgue."

"It said 'whether John likes it or not'."

"Well then you can go and have fun, but I'm not."

" _My_ day off. _My_ rules. And since it's my day off, you can go take Redbeard out."

Just then, they heard Mrs. Hudson at the front door saying, "No, I'm sorry, but he's not working today."

Sherlock's eyes lit up and he was on his feet in a second, making a mad dash for the door.

"No you don't!" John ran and tackled Sherlock before he managed to get out the door.

Sherlock frantically tried to get away. "I'm in! I'm here! You can-"

John clapped his hand over Sherlock's mouth in an attempt to muffle him. "You're having a day off, Sherlock, whether you like it or not!"

"But I have clients!" Sherlock tried to say, but John's hand was smothering him.

"What?" they heard Mrs. Hudson say. "No, no, he's not here right now. That must have been someone else. Come back tomorrow, and I'm sure he'll be able to take your case."

Sherlock was desperate. Prying John's hand off, he yelled, "I can take it now!"

"Shut _up_ , Sherlock!" John hissed, trying to restrain his friend as he attempted to get away.

"No, I didn't hear anything." Mrs. Hudson again. "As I said, come back tomorrow, and I'm sure he can help you then. Bye-bye!"

Sherlock wilted as he heard the door shut.

"Sorry, mate," John said, unhanding him and patting his shoulder. "It was for the best."

Sherlock grumbled as he stood up and straightened out his shirt. Stupid doctor. Ruined everything.

"Here, look, I forgot," John said, going into his room and coming out a moment later holding a grocery bag full of stuff. "I went out and got ping-pong balls and aluminium foil. We can make smoke bombs!"

Sherlock turned up his nose in disgust. "Don't want to. Bored!" He threw himself onto the couch and curled up, burying his face in a pillow. "I want my case back, John."

"No case till tomorrow. I promise, you can survive till then."

Sherlock grunted. "Remember you said that when I'm dead by the end of the day."

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay." With nothing else to do, he started playing with Redbeard.

"While you're at it, teach him how to use a litter pan, would you?" Sherlock's muffled voice rose from the couch. "It's bothersome, having to take him out all the time."

"He's a dog, I'm not sure you can train him to do that."

"You're John Watson. I'm sure you'll find a way."

"I'm taking that as a compliment." John rolled a ping-pong ball across the floor and Redbeard chased after it, finally catching it and gnawing on it. Then he scooped it up in his mouth and trotted over to Sherlock, whining until Sherlock rolled over. Redbeard dropped the ball in Sherlock's lap, then sat down, panting happily.

Sherlock looked down at the slobbery, tooth-marked ball in his lap, then looked at Redbeard, who looked pleased with himself, and had to crack a grin.

At that moment, they heard Mrs. Hudson's tread on the stairs.

"Quick– the dog!" Sherlock hissed, jumping off the couch and scooping up Redbeard with lightning speed. He dashed to his room, set Redbeard down, and quickly closed the door.

There was a knock on the front door. "Yoo-hoo, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson opened the door. "There you are, dear. Sleep well?"

"Same as any other night."

"Good, because we're going for a picnic this afternoon."

"Wha-? A _picnic_?" Sherlock spluttered. "No. No, no, no no no. Absolutely not. I refuse."

"Oh, wonderful, dear. We'll leave at eleven." Mrs. Hudson went off to make the preparations, humming to herself.

Sherlock glared after her. "Why is everyone so set in thinking that I'll enjoy my day off doing things I _don't like_?"

"Come on, Sherlock– you can't hate _everything_ we've planned to do today."

"Can't I?"

"Just give it a try, for Pete's sake, Sherlock. If you're not so determined to have a bad day, you might actually enjoy yourself."

"Right, like I'll _enjoy_ having a day off; having picnics, and making smoke bombs!"

"You wanted to make smoke bombs yesterday."

"That was yesterday. Yesterday is over, done, gone."

John shook his head. Sherlock was harder to keep entertained than a five year-old. "Right. Well, when Mrs. Hudson makes up her mind, there's no changing it; we're going on a picnic whether we like it or not."

"If I have to go on a picnic someone is going to get murdered!"

"Then you'll have a case to solve. Something to pass the time."

"…It'll either be you or Mrs. Hudson."

"Well, then you'll have a funeral to attend, won't you?" John got up and headed to the bathroom.

Once Sherlock heard the shower turn on, he dashed to John's room. Now to find his experiments…

* * *

Just for the record, Sherlock would never say 'goody'. But whatever. Deal with it.


	3. Chapter 3

About a half hour later, John opened the bathroom door and was immediately hit by a putrid smell. "What the-?"

He went out to the kitchen and through the smoke, saw Sherlock standing the stove, back turned towards him, pouring some sort of thick, bubbling, yellow liquid into a pot of…vinegar? John didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Sherlock turned towards him, safety glasses on and a big grin on his face. "Hello, John. I'm experimenting. Care to join me?"

"What are you experimenting on?"

"It's a mixture of…" Sherlock rattled off all the ingredients that were in the experiment as he finished pouring the yellow stuff into the pot. There was a loud bubbling sound, then a hiss as steam rose from the pot.

"Hand me that whisk, would you?" Sherlock held out a hand, eyes glued to the yellow stuff.

John handed him a whisk that was setting on the table. "So what's this supposed to be?" He started to lean over the stove, but Sherlock stopped him.

"Safety glasses." He pointed to an extra pair setting on the counter and John reluctantly put them on, leaning over the pot.

"It's going to be acid, once I've finished with it."

John jumped back from the pot, glad he hadn't been burnt.

"Oh, don't be such a stickler for safety, it's not strong." Sherlock hummed in an absent sort of way as he rushed around to the kitchen cabinets, grabbing this and that, then throwing it in the pot. Of course, he didn't put in anything edible; most of the things in the cabinets were, after all, simply things for Sherlock's wild experiments.

"What exactly do we need acid for?" John asked, pushing his safety goggles to the top of his head.

"Beats me." Sherlock tossed a bit of something that smelled suspiciously like sulphur into the pot, and, after taking it off the heat and putting it on a hot pad on the table, started whisking it madly. "You might want to put those back on," he said, indicating John's goggles, as little drops of liquid splashed outside the pot. When they hit the table, they let off a wisp of smoke and when John grabbed a wet rag to wipe them up, they left little burn marks on the table.

"Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson isn't going to like this; the table's practically ruined."

"Throw a tablecloth over it. No one will ever know."

John was surprised to see Sherlock in such a good mood after that morning's small catastrophe, but apparently the experiments made him happy.

Sherlock poured a bit of the stuff into a glass beaker that was setting out and held it up to his eyes, studying it closely. "Needs to set for a while. Should be ready by tomorrow. Don't know what I'll need it for, though..."

"You made it, but you don't know what to do with it?"

"No idea." Sherlock flashed a grin. "Exciting, isn't it?"

"Not really, but yeah, sure."

"Come on," Sherlock said suddenly, setting the beaker on the table and whipping off his safety glasses. "Let's go pest Lestrade."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm not going to look into it. It's not my division." Lestrade looked past Donovan to see Sherlock standing in the doorway to his office. "There, get him to figure it out; it's _his_ division."

Donovan looked over her shoulder, spotted Sherlock and John, scowled, and stormed past them both, though not without muttering, "Freak," when she passed Sherlock.

"Here, Sherlock, see what you can make of it," Lestrade said, going to hand Sherlock a folder that had been setting on his desk, but John grabbed it out of his hand and put it back down. "Sorry, he's taking the day off today."

Lestrade stared. "A day off? He's Sherlock Holmes, he can't take the day off!"

"Well, that's one thing Gavin and I agree on," Sherlock muttered.

"Well, apparently he can, because he is, whether you like it or not. He can help you tomorrow," John said.

"Then why'd you bother coming down here in the first place?"

John was about to respond, but Sherlock cut in. "Just stopped by to see you, well, there you are, doing fine, let's be off, John, shall we?"

"But I thought – give me that!" John yanked the folder out of Sherlock's hands; he'd sneaked it of the desk and read through it when John was preoccupied.

Sherlock strutted out as John set the folder back down. "Looks like I'm leaving…" He quickly followed Sherlock down the hall and towards the front doors. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, who committed the crime? I'm assuming that in the two minutes you had to look over the case, you figured it out."

"Nope."

"No?"

"No, John. Should I say it in Spanish? Noh."

"But you don't seem upset about it. You even volunteered to leave before you solved it."

"What can I say, must be losing my touch."

Actually, John thought that Sherlock was finally learning the meaning of the phrase 'blissful ignorance'.

"So where to now?" he asked, letting himself hope that Sherlock was actually starting to enjoy his day off.

"Mmm…" Sherlock pretended to think about it for a moment, but really, he already had a destination in mind. "Let's go to the mor- I mean, let's go give Molly a surprise, shall we?"

* * *

Molly Hooper was humming to herself as she prepared potassium nitrate slides for the microscope. Suddenly, she heard a voice close to her ear say, "Too nice of a day to sit inside."

She jumped, accidentally letting go of the slide she was holding.

A hand caught it just before it hit the ground. "Might want to be careful with that," Sherlock said, handing it back to her.

"Oh! Yeah, I- um….yeah." She set the slide on the table before she caused any further damage to it. "What are you doing here?" Then realizing it sounded rude, she said, "I mean – not that I don't want you here; I do want you here. No, that wasn't right. I mean…" She took a breath. Why couldn't she ever talk normally around Sherlock? "Um…you know your way around. Just let me know if you need me. To help you, I mean." She cringed internally, feeling her face go red.

"Actually, we're here to help you." Molly noticed for the first time that John Watson was standing behind Sherlock. "Sherlock's taking the day off, and he wanted to drop by to visit you."

Molly's ears went pink as her heart beat a tad faster. "Well, you can…I guess you can help me with these slides, if you want."

"Potassium nitrate," Sherlock said, glancing the slide Molly had placed on the counter.

"Yeah, we've got to make six more of them," Molly said. She tucked her hair behind her ear out of nervous habit and picked up the slide. "Some college students are coming in later today, and we need to have these ready for them."

"Well, then, we'd better get started." Sherlock took an empty slide and John was pleased to see him following Molly's instructions to the letter, rather than just doing it himself. It made Molly feel smart.

About a half-hour later, the slides were all ready to go.

"Thanks," Molly said, putting them all on a tray and setting them on the counter. "It would have taken me at least an hour."

"Nothing at all. Always willing to help out an amateur."

Molly's face fell a little and John groaned inwardly. Sherlock had been so good the entire time, and now he was going to start insulting her? He grabbed Sherlock's arm and started pulling him towards the door. "We're leaving now. Nice seeing you, Molly."

Molly gave a little wave as Sherlock was yanked out the door.

"What was that for?" Sherlock asked, jerking his arm out of John's grip and straightening his coat.

"You were about to go into insult-mode."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"We have an hour before the picnic with Mrs. Hudson," John said. "Now what?"

"I don't know, you're the one who planned the day. You tell me."

"Well…why don't we take Redbeard to the dog park? He's never been there before. It'll be fun."

Sherlock stared at John. "The dog park."

"Yeah. You know, where owners take their dogs to run around."

"I know what a dog park is. I just don't see why Redbeard would want to be anywhere near one."

"Come one, he'll get to meet other dogs! He's locked up in the flat for hours at a time, rarely ever gets to go out."

Sherlock sighed. " _Fine_."

John grinned. Score.

* * *

Let me know what you think of it so far!


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